BLIND TRIAL

by Brian Deer

  “That’s what I thought. But apparently not.”

  “Okay, let me look into this. Gimme an hour or so. It’ll be nothing, I’m sure, but I’ll find out what it’s all about. He’s here with Wilson now. Leave it with me.”

  “Please do. It’s utterly, utterly absurd, I know. It’s preposterous. But we can’t have something like this getting around. Not now. People Tweet these kind of stupid rumors in seconds, and that’s how these things take off. The stupider, the quicker. Just anybody. And it’s what she’s saying. And loudly.”

  “Shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions, I know. But she could be having some kind of mental issue here. Hallucinations even. That can happen. Maybe something with her medication. Maybe we need to get her checked out.”

  “That’s what I’m wondering. You’re probably right. But she’s got that boy from marketing with her, and she says he’s seen the certificate as well. I haven’t spoken with him, but she’s saying something about how Doctorjee signed it with a different name. Apparently, the sister gave a perfect description. And the writing on the certificate’s the same. Something about the letter G.”

  “Wasn’t hearing voices, attacked by bats, alien life forms, or anything?”

  “She said Frank Wilson gave a second opinion.”

  “There you go then. You know, Marcia, this could even be, well, you know… Poor woman.”

  “Most likely. But she’s absolutely going up the wall, and we simply can’t have this kind of thing now. It makes no sense to me whatsoever. She kept croaking, ‘He’s evil, he’s evil.’ It was most disconcerting.”

  US 101 South, Mendocino County, 16:52

  FOR THE last ten minutes the Sentra had climbed eight hundred feet toward Rattlesnake Summit, thirty miles south of Garberville.

  “Sir, yes, I know. I can explain. I can.”

  “Explain? Explain? Hope you can fucking explain. Had your phone off, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  “You want to speak with Dr. Mayr? She can fill you in.”

  “No, I don’t. I do not.”

  He had turned his phone off—at lunchtime in Ukiah—in a last hope of squaring the circle. Doc Mayr wanted one thing, and Hoffman something else. So, whatever he did would be wrong. “I think it’s the signal, what with all these mountains. It wasn’t off. Honestly, it wasn’t.”

  “Now, you listen here, Ben. ‘No problem,’ you told me. ‘Trust me,’ you said. ‘It’s all under control,’ you said. Do we have a problem? Yes, we do. Is anything under control? No, it ain’t.”

  The car reached the summit and began to descend, freewheeling toward the town of Laytonville. “But he definitely signed it. He definitely did. I mean, he was visiting with Helen Glinski as her doctor. The sister totally described him, and we got his handwriting. And she totally described Dr. Wilson. Dr. Mayr wants to speak with you now.”

  “Well, I don’t want to speak with her. This is between you and me. We’re working this out, like back in the day.”

  “No problem.”

  “No problem? Okay, we gotta go beyond keep saying, ‘No problem.’ We got to cool it. You listen to me, here’s what you do. You open a window now, and you get a good breeze going through that car. You gotta get cool and calm. Cool and calm.”

  “I’ll pull over.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Ben checked the mirrors, signaled to alert a tailgating Subaru, slowed, and pulled in at a gate. “Dr. Mayr wants to speak with you now.”

  “No. Don’t give her the phone, you hear me? Do not give her the phone. I need more time.”

  Ben killed the engine, locked the parking brake, and ignored a wrinkled hand in his face. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Listening cool and calm. It’ll all make sense, I know it. Soon enough, it will. Now, don’t think I’m mad at you for taking the old girl up there. Even though I told you not to do that. Must have been tricky. Can mess with your head, what with her being a senior member of staff.”

  “That’s about how it was. Very true.”

  The afternoon sun was dropping toward the mountains. Fast-moving vehicles jolted past.

  “Now, first thing. You made any calls, or send anything? I won’t be mad at you, but I need to know. Either of you. I know about the old girl calling Marcia, because Marcia’s called me.”

  “No, sir. Like I said, the signal was bad.”

  “Haven’t talked to Dr. Honda?”

  “Only earlier.”

  “How much earlier?”

  “Before midday, I guess. On the way up here. She’s cool, like I said.”

  “Okay. That’s okay. Now, you don’t call her again. Or anybody. No WhatsApps, texts, emails, Instagrams, Facebook posts. You sent anything like that today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So, no more from now on. And don’t take any calls either. Got that? Now you can turn your phone off. In fact, do turn it off, right after this call, and keep it that way till we got this all explained.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s good. I can’t give it you on the phone. Haven’t got it all straight yet myself. I need to think here. And get more information. But what we’re gonna do here is… We’re gonna meet with the old girl… Meet with the both of you. And talk this situation out.”

  “Be back in three hours. Could meet at the Hyatt.”

  “No. Don’t do that. Don’t come back into Frisco. We don’t want the old girl running a lap of Civic Center like some decapitated chicken. I’ll come meet you halfway. Someplace more convenient, and quicker than getting back into the city.”

  Ben reached for the glove box and grabbed a rental map. “There’s a town called Ukiah, north of San Fran. Right up against the freeway. Ukiah. U-k-i-a-h.”

  “That’s good. U-k-i-a-h. You head on there and you Whatsapp me when you found a spot. Someplace discrete. Maybe a parking lot, off-street. Now don’t go crazy on us. We’re only talking, hearing her concerns.”

  “Sure.”

  “And remember, cool and calm. Under control. We’ll make Henry proud of you yet.”

  Thirty-eight

  TWO CANS of Diet Coke nearly slid off the pizza box as Luke Ronson sprang up the stairs. He was stoked, on a roll, and only ten minutes late getting to Mario’s place at Irving Park. They agreed on nine thirty, and he almost made it. He kicked on the door. “Open up.”

  Mario yanked the latch and let him pass. “What’s going on? You high?”

  “Been thinking. Got an idea.”

  He stepped over a big bag of gardeners’ potting soil and dumped the pizza box on Mario’s bed. The apartment was so small there was no place to sit except the floor or a straw-backed chair. Luke settled for the floor, kicked his shoes into a corner, and pulled off his tie and shirt. A pushed-up window admitted the moan of traffic and yells from kids on the street.

  “Think maybe I’ve come up with something on what you were saying. Like maybe a way to screw some compensation.”

  Mario lifted a schefflera umbrella plant. “Mr. Ronson’s been thinking. Opinion pending. Hey, bill the client five hundred bucks.”

  “I’m serious, man. Been thinking about that vaccine. Went and talked with Ken DePaul this afternoon.”

  Mario wrestled the plant into a clay flowerpot. “I’m listening.”

  “So, tell me this. You keep any shit on that trial? You know, handouts they gave you, or anything?”

  Mario grabbed a handful of soil from the bag and pressed it around the edges of the pot. “Only the thing I signed up front.”

  “The informed consent?”

  “Yeah. You want it?”

  “It’s only an idea. Pretty speculative. Nothing definite, or anything. Don’t get carried away. But thought maybe we could threaten to sue them over you getting HIV. You never know.”

  “Sue who?”

  “The clinic you went to, Howard Brown. Or the company. Or the doctors. Or all of them. Product liability’s Ken
’s bag, and he reckons you never know till you give it a spin.”

  Luke opened the pizza box and detached a triangle of cheese, tomato, mushrooms, and pepperoni.

  Mario wiped his hands, climbed onto the chair, and pulled papers from a bag on a closet. “Want to apply your forensic skills?”

  Luke scooped up a mushroom and skimmed through the consent document: twenty-two pages, with Q&As.

  Name… Date of birth… Address… Participant Signature… Witness Signature…

  All the usual formalities.

  The document was signed “Mario Bianchi” and witnessed by one Ross Barbarossa.

  Luke flicked to the front.

  Your participation is voluntary… The purpose of this study… The vaccine… Trial methodology…

  “Here we are, ‘Risks and warnings.’”

  Side effects may include tenderness, pain, hardness, redness, thickening or a lump at the site of injection, limitation in arm movement, fever, rash, headache, fatigue, malaise, muscle aches, or allergic reaction. It is possible that other potential adverse events have yet to be identified.

  “So, do you know when they’re gonna tell people whether they got the placebo or the vaccine?”

  Mario popped a ring-pull. “Said next month. Just in case anyone’s left who hasn’t worked it out for themselves. You want to go to Charlies, or Fusion?”

  Although it has not been seen previously, by developing immunological responses to WernerVac it is theoretically possible you might become more sensitive to HIV-1 if you are exposed to it later.

  “Shit, man, it’s got some heavy warnings.”

  “Yeah, but that’s how they cover themselves. When you go to the clinic, they explain all that in the counseling. It’s all technicalities to keep guys like Ken DePaul off their asses. Like drug commercials.”

  “Doesn’t work that way. Ken was saying these things are always full of shit like, ‘I understand I may be hit by a meteor whilst renting the vehicle,’ but that doesn’t protect them if they don’t do the thing with appropriate caution. They still have a duty of care.”

  Mario took a slice from the box. “You’d like to think so.”

  “Right. Here’s the stuff for you, ‘Becoming pregnant.’”

  If you become pregnant during the study, you should tell the study doctor or nurse as soon as possible.

  Mario sat on the floor and chewed.

  “‘Risks from engaging in unsafe behavior.’ Right on time. Here we are.”

  You have been told the effectiveness of WernerVac is not known. You indicated at enrollment that you have not commenced pre-exposure prophylaxis (PREP), and that you will notify us if you change that decision. You should avoid behaviors that may expose you to HIV-1, such as unsafe sex or sharing needles. You will be counseled during the study about avoiding HIV-1 infection.

  “So, you did get counseling about PREP, rubbers, and stuff then?”

  “Yeah, well, they counsel you, but what do you hear? Because they want people to go and get the virus, don’t they? They want you to ignore the counseling and stay off PREP. They want you to get fucked, or do needles, or whatever. How else will they find out if their vaccine works?”

  Luke tossed the document. “And what did you hear? What did they tell you about the vaccine working or not?”

  “What you hear is how the CDC, the NIH, the Surgeon General, and the President of the United States are all behind it. And how the company’s stock price is up on expectations. How experts hope it’s gonna be one hundred percent effective but would settle for fifty percent. Basically, everybody’s pumping it at you. They’re all saying, ‘This thing’s gotta work, or we wouldn’t be spending all this dough.’”

  “But you had a fifty-fifty chance of getting placebo. And the vaccine was never going to be hundred percent.”

  “Yeah, well, let me tell you. All you think is you been vaccinated. Everybody says you can tell, like if you get a hot feeling, or tired after the shot, like I did. And you think that must mean you got the real stuff. And then you get some stud coming at you after four Jacks and a tab of MDMA. Go find yourself a rubber? I don’t think so.”

  Luke stepped into a little kitchen area and rinsed his hands. “Contributory negligence maybe screws you. I don’t know. This isn’t one of my fields.”

  “Yeah, well I did sign the thing. I did read it. And it does say the effectiveness of the vaccine isn’t known. Even if I didn’t get the placebo.”

  “But what else did you hear? You’re saying they were pushing it at you orally? Saying things verbally they didn’t write down?”

  “Course they were. They want you to think it’s so wonderful, so you sign up and then come back for a second shot. And they want you to go out and get fucked without a rubber. Otherwise, they got no stats. But there’s nothing written down about that. I mean, those guys are smart.”

  “Could have recorded it on your phone.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t.”

  “They don’t know that. Might be worth drafting a letter and see what they say. I mean, if the doctors, or nurses, or maybe advocacy groups getting money from BerneWerner, and especially the company itself, made any kind of reckless or misleading claims.”

  “Much could I get?”

  “Probably nothing. This is very speculative. But maybe seventy cents on the dollar of a number of millions, if we can prove it, on the preponderance, or they think it’s smart to settle. Burden’s on us though.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “But it’s not that simple. First, you got to think, do you recall any relevant person telling you it did work, or it must work, or it probably would protect you?”

  “They all did, one way or another.”

  “And were they employed on the trial, work for a medical center, or connected with BerneWerner Biomed, or anything along those lines?”

  “Yes, sir. They were.”

  “They were? Do you remember any names?”

  “I remember one.”

  “Go ahead. You can name them.”

  “Ben.”

  Luke felt a stab: a familiar kind of stab. “Ben? What d’you mean by that?”

  “Correct, counselor. He told me. Never stopped about how they got the magic bullet with that vaccine.”

  “Fuck’s sake Mario. You can’t believe what he says.”

  “What do you mean? He’s your alter ego.”

  “Fuck’s sake, you just don’t always take what he says as being like necessarily true, or anything. You can’t always make that assumption.”

  “You never said that before.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever. Besides, he was only on their scholarship then. Wasn’t even a marketing assistant. You couldn’t get at the company through him back then. He only went on the staff after we drove down Memorial Day weekend.”

  Mario rose from the floor. “Yeah, well he told me the vaccine was sure to work. Said they wouldn’t be spending millions of bucks on a phase III trial if it didn’t work. And he heard stuff from a guy at the company about how you could tell if you were getting the active vaccine or not. And he said how he was giving me the inside track. That’s what he said.”

  “Man, you wanted to blow him. That’s all. That’s why you listened to all the crap he comes out with. It’s always the same story.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m telling you, for weeks round our place it was, ‘Oh Ben, let me get you a beer,’ ‘Oh Ben, you want me to rinse that shirt for you.’ And now it’s his fault. My fault.”

  “Can’t say he doesn’t play it up.”

  “No, you can’t. He needs it.”

  “So how come you’re on his side all the time? What makes you stand up for that scumbag and his lies? Lied about that vaccine, he did. Even if he only lied about knowing one thing about it.”

  Luke couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t bear arguments. He pulled on his shirt and shoes. “Look, I gotta go. I
got a pile of work. I just came by with a thought. I’ll call you on the weekend. Okay?”

  At the foot of the stairs, he stepped onto the street and stared at the sky: all clear. He looked at Mario’s windows. He knew he shouldn’t leave, but he wouldn’t fight with anyone over Ben. Mario was right. But when it came to all that, a choice was made too long ago.

  Thirty-nine

  AN HOUR before sunset, the landscape around Ukiah turned as gray as Trudy Mayr’s bra. A carpet of cloud edged in from the coast, creeping across the vineyards and pear orchards of the Yokayo Valley, westward to the Mayacamas Mountains. Orange turned to white. Shadows softened on State Street. The Russian River gave up its sparkle.

  Resting on the pillows in the Sentra’s front passenger seat, Trudy studied the sky with apprehension. As a child on Bodie Island, she’d learned to read the weather even before she read Huckleberry Finn. She knew how cumulonimbus warned of short, heavy showers, and what stirrings in the grass presaged a gale. And when a pale, flat vapor stole across Pamlico Sound, she knew it meant to be prepared.

  She felt like the mother of a missing child. Waiting. She felt bewilderment, fear, self-blame.

  They were parked at a spot where street lighting had failed half a mile from the freeway exit. Ben had pulled in—the car’s nose to the curb—at a miniature strip mall on Talmage Road, two hundred feet east of South State. Behind them lay pavement and a patch of vacant land at the end of an airstrip runway. To the right: a carwash, with an apron of asphalt. Ahead, a liquor store: the Bottle Shop.

  They’d hardly spoken since the call came through from Mr. Hoffman, after which a brief squabble ensued. Since then, they’d sat silently on Route 101 or, now, silently stared at a sign.

  WE HAVE A WIDE SELECTION OF WINE AND

  LIQUOR—PLUS FRESH SPECIAL-ORDER DELI

  SANDWICHES AND SALADS TO GO

  AT 20:16, Theodore Hoffman pulled alongside in a maroon Chevy Camaro SS. He parked to the Sentra’s left and sat a few minutes, like a shopper who’d left home with no money. Then he cut the coupe’s engine and, without acknowledging their presence, got out, walked to the store, and peered inside. Then he glanced around the lot, approached the sedan, opened a rear door, and got in.